


The Elder Brother

by callboxkat



Series: Infinitesimal [2]
Category: Cartoon Therapy, Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Gen, Giant/Tiny, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Prequel to Infinitesimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: The story of how Virgil lost his tail, told from Emile's perspective.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dr. Emile Picani
Series: Infinitesimal [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514426
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	The Elder Brother

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to offer more insight into Virgil’s and Emile’s past and their relationship before meeting Patton–particularly, Emile’s motivations. Hopefully, this accomplishes that. It includes spoilers for chapter 17 of Infinitesimal (part 15 on tumblr), Sharing is Caring.

“So, are we ready to go?” Emile asked, sliding a pin into his belt. It never hurt to have some extra protection. He glanced around once more, just to be sure he had everything.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, tying a water pouch around his waist. He had a bag over his shoulder, like Emile, but unlike Emile, he had a string looped numerous times around his torso, meant to keep the crutches he used to walk pinned against his back when they needed to climb.

“I thought you’d be more excited,” Emile teased. “It’s not often we go to the seventh floor.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s still work.” He paused. “Thanks for letting me come, though,” he said quickly. “It’s nice to stretch my legs.”

It had taken Emile a while to warm up to the idea of letting Virgil rejoin him on their supply runs, after what had happened to Virgil’s foot. But Virgil had made a lot of progress navigating on his crutches, even as it became clearer and clearer that his foot would never fully heal. As Virgil argued, he was now faster on the crutches than he had often been before he’d ever broken his foot. It was true that it had been slightly deformed ever since Virgil was born, and he’d had difficulty walking for long periods of time. The crutches took away that problem.

If breaking your foot had any upsides, Emile figured, that would be it.

Regardless, it was no wonder that Virgil had worn him down, Emile thought, looking at his baby brother. Especially with how persistent he could be. Even now, Emile didn’t let him come every time, but the occasions that he did bring Virgil with were growing more and more frequent.

“Sure,” Emile said. “It’ll be fun, having you there.”

“So, what all are we getting, anyway?”

Emile laughed, gesturing for Virgil to go ahead of him. “I only told you twice already.”

Virgil was conspicuously silent. Emile suspected he hadn’t been listening earlier.

Emile just smiled, turned off the light, and strode after Virgil into the tunnel. “We need to get some more lights, since these are probably going to start burning out soon; so that’s why we’re going to the seventh floor. That, and I also want to see if I can get some of that yarn she has. And while we’re there we can get some food before we start working our way back.”

“…like those strawberry candies?”

The old lady who lived on the seventh floor had a container of candy, which she usually refilled if she expected her grandchildren to visit her soon. Virgil’s favorite among them was a hard candy with a wrapper that made it look like a strawberry.

“If she has them,” Emile said. “And _only_ if it’s safe to get them.”

“Cool.”

Emile couldn’t see Virgil’s face, but he knew his brother well enough to know he was grinning.

“After that, we can pick up some food in the apartments we pass on the way home. I figure that’s easier than stopping along the way up and then having to carry it all with us.”

Virgil nodded, not saying anything.

“Whatever we get’ll depend on what’s available, obviously,” Emile continued. “And how much room we have in our bags. So, we’ll see.”

…

“Okay, wait here a second,” Emile said, working open the door that led into the apartment. He crept forward, glancing back once to make sure Virgil had done as he asked.

It was quiet, which was good, and what Emile had expected to find. It had to be past midnight by now, and the old woman was the sort to turn in for the night early. Emile would have been surprised to find her still awake.

He crept out a few inches, crouching, just to be sure she wasn’t around. There had been one or two occasions in the past where the woman had fallen asleep in her favorite chair in the living room; and Emile didn’t want any surprises, especially with his brother there.

“Em,” a voice hissed. Emile glanced back to where Virgil stood just within the doorway, waiting. He held up one finger. _Just one second_.

Virgil nodded, and Emile crept further out, looking around. Once he was far enough to see into the living room, he stopped, peering into the dark at the woman’s chair. Empty.

He glanced once more around the kitchen before he turned back to his brother and beckoned him forward. He heard the soft, even _tap_ of Virgil’s crutches on the tile floor as he approached. Even muffled by the bits of fabric tied over the ends, they were louder than Emile would prefer, which was part of the reason why he wanted to be doubly sure that they were alone.

…

“Oh, shoot!”

Emile glanced up from where he sat, organizing the supplies in their bags. Everything had gone well in the apartment, and they’d collected everything they came for. The light bulbs, some wire, some food, and even the yarn. At least, Emile thought they had.

“What?”

“The candy,” Virgil explained, gesturing back out into the apartment, towards the kitchen counter where the tin they were kept in sat. “I almost forgot!”

Emile bit his lip, considering. “Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll go get it.”

“I can do it,” Virgil said.

“Virge….”

“Come on, it’s one piece of candy. I’ll just go over there and be back before you’re even done with this.”

Emile looked at him for a long second. Virgil stared back, hopeful, pleading, insistent. Confident in his abilities. Emile sighed, giving in. “Okay. But _be careful_.”

Virgil grinned his crooked grin, turned around, and walked back into the apartment.

Emile went back to packing, making sure everything was secure and that there wasn’t any wasted space in the bags. The more they could bring home on their trip, the better, since it would mean they could wait longer before needing to go out again.

Several long minutes passed. Emile was starting to grow antsy, but he reminded himself that Virgil couldn’t move as fast as he could, and there was no reason to assume anything more was keeping him. So he kept packing.

He had just fastened the button on his bag when he heard the scream.

_“EMILE!! Help!”_

Emile was instantly on his feet, running before his mind could catch up with his body.

The sight that met him when he emerged from the wall would be forever burned in his memory.

An enormous cat, with gray-white fur and a face that looked like it had been rammed into the wall one too many times, stood in the middle of the kitchen floor. Its yellow eyes, flashing in the darkness, were locked onto something at its feet.

Virgil.

“HEY!” Emile yelled, hardly caring at this point if he woke the human.

It wouldn’t matter. Not if he lost his baby brother.

He ran forward, pulling out his knife so fast that he caught his palm on the blade. He switched it to his other hand without a thought, not slowing down even as the cat’s eyes lifted and locked onto him.

Virgil took the opportunity to scramble backwards. One of his crutches was lying broken on the floor more than a foot away from Virgil lay, where the cat must have dragged him. Now, he brandished his remaining crutch as if to ward off his attacker. He was panting, pale, but very much alive.

The cat, despite Emile’s yelling, didn’t seem overly interested in leaving its prey. As he ran, trying to get to his brother before it was too late, the cat reached over and batted at Virgil with a paw. Emile’s baby brother cried out in terror as he was bowled over.

The cat was _playing with him._

“Let him go!” Emile grabbed a piece of the broken crutch as he ran past and threw it, hitting the cat in the eye with a lucky shot. It hissed at Emile, pausing to swipe a paw in his direction. Emile scrambled out of the way, twisting his ankle in the process.

As Emile struggled back to his feet, the cat pounced, jaws snapping. Virgil rolled just in time to avoid being bitten in half, but not far enough.

The cat’s jaws closed on his tail.

Virgil let out a strangled sound and grabbed onto his tail, trying to pull it away from the cat. A few sections slid back out, streaked with blood, but the cat bit down harder, and Virgil shrieked.

The cat tugged harshly, making Virgil slide across the floor until he found a foothold in the grout between two tiles.

Emile ran forward. “NO!”

Too late.

There was an audible snap, like a rubber band pulled too taut. The worst sound Emile had ever heard.

Virgil collapsed.

The next thing Emile knew, he was in the cat’s face, standing over his brother, slashing his knife across the ugly thing’s nose. It reared back, hissing, blood beginning to drip down its face and mat in its fur.

The cat slashed a paw at Emile and knocked the knife from his hand. He went down for only a fraction of a second, blinking away stars, not even feeling the pain, and scrabbled for the pin at his side. He yanked it free and held it aloft like a sword.

For what could have been either an eternity or only a few seconds, he fought, stabbing and slashing whenever the cat dared come close. Eventually, it drew back and began pacing from side to side, hissing with its hackles raised, watching Emile.

It tried one more time to approach, but Emile was ready. He stabbed his pin into its side as hard as he could. It sunk in far enough that he couldn’t pull it back out.

The cat yowled in pain and scrambled away.

Emile took the opportunity to seize his brother under the arms, trying not to think about the pool of blood he lay in, the pallor of his skin, the fact that he couldn’t tell if he was even breathing. He dragged him backwards towards the entrance to the walls as fast as he could, panting heavily, shaking with adrenaline, just waiting for the cat to return.

Which of course, it did, as soon as it noticed its prey escaping.

It bounded towards them, furious, teeth bared. The roaring in Emile’s ears was so loud that he couldn’t hear its hissing. He dragged Virgil even faster, faster than Emile had known he could move.

Emile made it through the entrance and shoved the both of them to the side just as an enormous paw slammed through the opening in the wall. Emile scrambled away, pulling Virgil along with him. His eyes fell on his hook and rope, lying discarded on the ground, and he snatched them, driving the sharpened point of the hook into the cat’s leg with all of his strength.

Another shriek, and the cat was gone. Somewhere else in the apartment, a human voice called out, but Emile couldn’t have cared less.

He tossed the bloody hook to the side and hurried back to his brother, already yanking off his shirt. He pressed that to the gaping wound on Virgil’s tail, feeling sick when he saw just how much blood there was. A shirt wasn’t going to stop this. Pinning the shirt in place with his knees, he grabbed Virgil’s knife and cut his bag off of him. He hacked off the strap of it, and then tied that around his severed tail. He had trouble tying the knot, his hands slipping on the blood.

So much blood.

“Virgil, Virge, stay with me,” he begged, knowing his baby brother couldn’t hear him. “Just stay with me. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay, you hear me? Virgil? Virge, please, open your eyes. Please!”

 _Please, he has to be okay_.

He kept the shirt pressed to Virgil’s wound, his heart pounding, staring at his brother’s pale face, his limp form.

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please wake up! I can’t lose you!”

Virgil was his baby brother. His only family, his only friend. His responsibility, left to Emile after their parents had died. Emile knew that the world was dangerous, especially for a little, especially for Virgil. And Emile had sent him to get that candy, just a stupid piece of candy, alone. He’d sent him straight into that cat’s claws. It didn’t matter that Emile hadn’t known it was there. This was his fault.

If Virgil died, it was his fault.

…

“I’m going to get you home, I promise,” Emile murmured, slowly getting to his feet. He paused for a second, making sure he didn’t overbalance from the heavy weight on his back.

Virgil, his head lolled on Emile’s shoulder, didn’t answer.

Emile had gotten the bleeding from Virgil’s tail under control as best he could, using whatever he could from their supplies. But they had to get home. Emile could do more for him there. They had proper bandages—more than what they had brought on this trip, which they had turned out to be woefully unprepared for—and clean water. Emile knew that he needed to get Virgil’s wound cleaned as soon as possible.

He’d repurposed the string that Virgil usually used to secure his crutches, rope from his hook, and the strap from his own bag to keep Virgil on his back. He’d be able to hold onto Virgil’s legs in the sections of the tunnel where he could walk level, but most of the trip involved climbing. He wanted to be absolutely certain that Virgil would not fall.

Emile reached back a hand and laid it against Virgil’s cheek, just to reassure himself that Virgil was still breathing. He felt a soft exhale against his hand, and his knees went weak with relief.

“Okay. Okay. You’re okay. Let’s go, baby brother,” Emile said, not bothering to wipe at his eyes, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks as he began to walk.

He went as quickly as he dared, climbing down through the walls, hurrying through the tunnels. Virgil never made a sound, even as Emile talked to him, begged him to wake up, to hold on.

By some miracle, they made it home.

Emile hurried inside and laid Virgil down on the floor, grabbing a blanket at random to bundle under his head, and another to elevate his tail in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He un-bandaged and cleaned the wound, swallowing his nausea at the sight of it, before bandaging it back up again more securely.

Once that was done, he hurried to Virgil’s head and checked for the hundredth time that he was still breathing—it was shallow, but he was—and started cleaning the blood off of him. He was covered in it, soaking his clothes, matting in his hair, smeared across his cheek. There was only so much he could do.

By that point, the adrenaline was wearing off, and Emile was starting to feel some of the pain from his own injuries. He hadn’t gotten away unscathed, of course, fighting off an entire _cat_. He was growing dizzy, probably from blood loss and the shock of what had happened. Still, he waited until he’d made Virgil as comfortable as he could manage before finally tending to his own wounds.

In addition to the slice in his palm from the knife, there were few slashes on his arms and chest, a couple of them rather deep. Emile couldn’t have said for certain exactly when in the fight he’d gotten them. He stayed at Virgil’s side, keeping a watchful eye on his brother as he cleaned and bandaged them. He also wrapped up his twisted ankle, which was so swollen by that point that he couldn’t tell whether it was broken or just badly sprained.

Finally, when all was said and done, Emile sat there in the dark; and he put his head in his hands and cried.

…

The next three days were some of the worst of Emile’s life.

Virgil looked so vulnerable, lying there in the blankets, his skin paler than Emile had ever seen it. The shadows around his eyes stood out like stark bruises, his dark hair tangled and pasted to his forehead with sweat.

On the second day, when Virgil did stir, he was trapped in a nightmarish delirium, thrashing and crying out nonsense. He was burning up, his skin sweaty and hot to the touch, and Emile didn’t know how to help him. He didn’t have medicine; he couldn’t leave Virgil long enough to get any; and he wouldn’t know what or how much to give him, anyway.

He did what he could, cleaning and re-bandaging his wound and trying to keep him comfortable; but whenever he tried to comfort Virgil during one of his nightmares, he didn’t seem to even know Emile was there. It broke his heart to see his brother that way.

“You can do it, V, you can,” Emile whispered, dabbing a damp cloth along Virgil’s sweaty brow. “You’re so strong. I know you’ll be okay.”

As much as Emile wanted to believe those words, he honestly thought that his brother was going to die. He thought that he had utterly failed as an older brother, and he would lose the most important person in his life. The _only_ person in his life.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then carefully propped up his brother, who moaned at being moved. “Sorry, sorry,” Emile whispered, picking up a cup of water at his side. He pressed it to his brother’s lips. “Can you drink some of this for me? Just a sip?”

He trickled some water into Virgil’s mouth. Virgil coughed, water dripping down his chin, but then his eyelids fluttered, and he swallowed.

“That’s it,” Emile said, “That’s it. Good job. One more sip. There you go.” He set the cup to the side and gently laid his brother down again.

Emile bent over and pressed his forehead to Virgil’s. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love you so much. We never say that enough, but it’s true. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, come back to me. Please come back to me, Virgil.”

Emile never let his brother out of his sight, practically glued to his side, just in case something changed. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely stomach more than a few sips of water, he was so stressed.

On the evening of the third day, Virgil’s fever finally broke. When Emile pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and found that he’d cooled to a more normal temperature, he started crying all over again. He’d been crying a lot recently.

Virgil stirred at the sound. “Emile?” his weak voice croaked.

Emile froze, going still, then quickly wiped at his tears. “Virge? Virge, can you hear me?”

“Hurts,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering half open. “What…? Wh-where…?”

Emile couldn’t answer, not yet. He just let out a sob and held his brother close, careful not to hurt him, crying, apologizing, promising over and over that he’d never let anything hurt Virgil ever again

Virgil’s arm came up and rested weakly against Emile’s back, and Emile cried in relief that the world hadn’t taken his baby brother away from him.

…

It was a long and slow recovery, but Virgil did recover. What remained of his tail healed; and while it would of course never grow back, he adapted just as he always did; and if Emile didn’t know any better, he might have believed that Virgil had always had only half of his tail.

One blessing through it all was that Virgil didn’t remember what had happened. Emile wouldn’t wish that horrible memory on him.

Emile did tell him about the cat, about the supply run gone wrong. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell him about what exactly had happened. About how it had all been Emile’s fault.

But Emile remembered. He would always remember.


End file.
